


i'm tearing you asunder.

by theydie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, all the "hurt" is mostly internal / from introspection., more fluff/comfort than hurt and even then the hurt is all metaphorical.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theydie/pseuds/theydie
Summary: “what?” that gets a laugh out of martin. “that doesn’t even make sense,”“does it have to?” tim says with a fond grin of his own.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	i'm tearing you asunder.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to go out on vday when the fluff ep was released, but i was swamped. i'm not the best when it comes to writing canon character interactions + i haven't written anything this "lengthy" in a while, sorry in advance. shoutout to my friend who beta'd this. if you notice errors, have constructive criticism or favorite parts comment below, if you want? thank you.

it’s february now. 

the cold is comforting, a constant chill that climbs down their spines. wind pours past them as the temperature sinks into their clothes, sensation peeling away with a puff. martin’s arm is linked with tim’s, the height difference highlighted where his head rests on the other’s shoulder. huddled together, the two make their way down the street - feet clumsy and legs numb from the weather. there’s an audible hush with every step taken, snow packing as the two continue their trip. 

he braces himself on tim, even while keys are being dug out of too-small coat pockets. 

tim releases a breath as the key comes into his palm, metal cold and solid. with a shiver, he produces it from his jacket and gets the door open. light floods, pouring out, and his heart begins to burst - seeing martin in the corner of his eye, highlighted by the seeping glow. his cheeks flush, or maybe they already were from the cold. after a second, martin separates to enter - seeing as the both of them side by side wouldn’t make it through. 

“you left the lights on,” he notes as tim closes the door behind him. barely audible as the shudder plays over his words. the shock of the indoor heat makes the palms of his hands tickle, blood returning. color comes as feeling begins to trickle back in, the forces racing. the comment goes unheard, noise buried underneath the heartbeat - the pounding in tim’s ears. 

martin’s hands are cupped over his mouth, blowing a breath into the shell-shape he’s made. tim thinks, dumbly, that he wants to hold them - warm martin’s hands with his own. there’s a snarky, fake flirtation on the tip of his tongue in place of sincerity. he must have been caught up for longer than a second because then there’s attention on him. his eyes widen before his expression falters, then immediately playing into his safety. mouth dry,

“see something you like?”

buffering. 

“tim.” martin says, without hesitation. it’s sharp, or tim thinks so at least. he’s been overthinking certain inflection recently, powering through his own misregulations. 

and that shuts him up, his face hardening almost instinctively. it surprises tim when martin’s quiet, disbelieving laughter comes a second later. 

indignant. 

“oh, and what’s funny now?” tim says, with a tilt of the head. despite himself, the carefree tone sets it’s front. opening and closing his hands at his side, trying to regain some feeling there - fidgeting mindlessly. he’s starting to get antsy, uncertain. he feels scatterbrained, somehow, the most he’s felt all night, distracted and utterly distorted, and, and, and martin is shrugging off his outer layer. 

“you didn’t catch a word, did you?”

martin makes his way over, finally, hands in his pant-pockets. he’s a cat on the prowl, expression neutral while a smug sheen plays across the lenses of his glasses. slinking closer, hand-making a home on tim’s upper arm - comforting, then, more importantly, climbing. then his hold is in tim’s hair, careful and considerate as he passes the nape, threading his fingers into the curls. practiced, gently holding the base of tim’s skull without many tangles. 

all of it begins to click, just as their lips meet. 

it’s as if everything were playing in slow motion, only to be put on fast-forward. the tape in his head begins to wind, and unfurl. he must’ve forgotten his medication, this a symptom of something he’s kept away, or rather a problem coming up more often when he’s without. it’s a completely unprompted realization. martin’s voice plays in his mind, from before, from when tim couldn’t respond. he makes up for it by eagerly replying now. 

it was thanks and he understands then, the two finally on the same page. the playback happens in a fraction of a second, quick enough for him to kiss back comfortably, tim’s arms shaking around martin’s neck, loosely hanging there. his body moves before his mind can process, taking a step backward, dragging his partner with him. the door greets his spine with the pressure of it’s door handle. 

a short kiss that leads to another, and another. tim finds himself murmuring mindlessly when there are breaks for air, filling the silence on his own. dumbly, he continues to tell martin he loves him - to which he receives a smug ‘i know,’ or an even more satisfied ‘i love you.’

his face is warm, warmer now that they’re so close. two candles lit side by side, racing each other in an unspoken match. martin’s hand stays gentle, a cradle providing comfort - he anchors tim effortlessly. 

they break away from each other, flustered and clean. tim looks at martin, watches his mouth as he takes a breath. there’s something in him that’s proud, proud of his work and proud of martin. it’s nothing possessive, he’s sure, but there’s something about properly ruining yourself with a lover. seeking out danger with the one you care for, knowing that no matter how far you fall at least it’s together. 

a deep-seated trust that stretches out as the two of you run from oblivion. 

martin takes a step back, expression unreadable with eyes wandering. his hand places itself on his chin, fingers halfway over his mouth - contemplative. 

tim is overwhelmed, by what, he doesn’t know quite yet but there’s a sense of want. a wanting, to understand and to hold and to… when martin turns on his heel and dives deeper into the apartment, he remembers why they’ve come together. 

as he goes, tim follows carefully, as if a stranger in his own home. carefully, he glances to martin, searching for something. approval? whatever it is, he finds it in the softness in his partners’ eyes. it doesn’t surprise him when, once finding the couch - martin sits. tim follows suit easily, feeling fluid and warm in his company - more comfortable with him than without. 

it all plays out rather routine. 

the tv comes on loud - before promptly lowering in volume when martin finds the remote. with his free hand, his glasses are removed and set down. he squints, only for a moment, before his eyes focus on the menu screen. with precision, the channels are sifted through and a movie - probably halfway through already - is selected. it’s almost second nature, a habit he just can’t kick, where martin finds himself leaning on tim. everything is loose, their arms and legs heavy - limbs lost underneath the blanket, now unfolded over the two bodies..

tim, despite himself, hums along to nothing in particular. it’s barely audible, sound buried underneath what’s being broadcasted on the television. he used to feel embarrassed, ashamed even, with his own … he hasn’t found a word for it, for creating his own background noise - but martin pays the sound no mind. the realization of such washes over, and tim can’t help but be thankful. martin doesn’t comment, only coming closer, head resting on the shoulder provided. then, he offers a rumble of his own, shifting, trying to re-find his comfortable spot. he settles soon after, slotted right along tim’s side, locking into place like puzzle pieces made for one another. 

this was the plan, and martin is comforted by how well things are going. a movie, or what’s left of one - check. it shouldn’t be strange, the two of them - tim has picked at their relationship to an unnecessary extent in his free time. he’s not lacking the confidence, and he’s definitely not getting cold feet but a thought has been inserted and it’s all he has to turn over and dissect. 

a metal dish laid out with himself on the platter, scalpel spreading his thoughts left and right. tim’s hum patters out, not in the way of being out of breath, but in the manner of it takes too much focus. his distress seems to spread, nervous energy radiating off of him as tim’s leg begins to bounce. martin shifts before drawing back, a hand on tim’s shoulder - anchoring. 

his expression reads like he just about had an epiphany, right then and there. 

“is something..” he starts, then stops. the question is left unspoken, but it hangs in the air nonetheless. tim tries to smile innocently. “tim?”

his mind races to find the words for the drama-scene he’s ensnared the both of them into. 

grabbing at every single straw and word, tim says, “mate, tomorrow’s valentine’s.” sounding as if the air had been squeezed out of him. 

an immediate, caught off-guard, “what?” a squawk, practically. he repeats the word a few times, almost involuntarily, trying to regain his bearings. “sorry, what?”

martin’s expression then changes from worry, to puzzled, then to embarrassed. he too, seemed to have forgotten. his hand closes around something, his phone probably, before loosening. the act of checking the date cut short. a panicked look in the color of his eye that tim notices right away, just as instantaneous as if he were to get lost in them. 

“well?” tim goes, as if he had a continuation in mind. he finds himself free of the stupor, blood returning as the numbness of overthinking subsides. his hand layers itself over martin’s, taking it into his own. 

“i,” martin stammers, stumbling over the syllable. the face of someone being ridiculed turns over into something else - something contemplative and thoughtful. determination digs it’s heels in. firmly, as he takes fake-responsibility. “i forgot, somehow.”

a sigh, posture deflating somewhat. that’s about when tim starts to feel bad, having had turned his own confusion into someone else’s. he swipes his thumb over martin’s knuckles, comforting even while idle. his expression softens, and martins does the same. 

“martin,” in an attempt to pacify the other, “i forgot too, you know, until just right now.”

there’s no immediate response, nothing audible at least - only looking. 

tim laughs, in no way mocking, but disbelieving. he’s almost acutely aware of the change in waters, sensing it too soon. the sound spreads, trickling like a leaky faucet as martin’s own awkward laugh starts up. the hand begins to creep up, a steady weight holding onto forearm - not trapping, just a light keeping. 

“y’got something to say?” 

“well,” martin says, voice small. after clearing his throat, he tries to speak again. his tone is is careful, treading over waters he hadn’t expected. floundering, trying to regain his barings, “while you are right, i, haven’t gotten anything planned if that’s..”

he murmurs something nonsensical, words devolving into random babbling. flustered, he mimics the gesture, opposite hand holding onto tim’s arm, chaining the both of them together as the ship begins to sink. the seas crash. martin feels himself being let on, baited into biting - he’s not sure into _what_. the loose grasp on his arm tenses, a solid pressure as tim leans forward. slow, though, to keep from surprising.

martin watches, reaction delayed as he still stands atop the hill of forgetting the upcoming holiday. their foreheads touch, close, incapable of coming any closer. for a long while, and even now, he’s never had many friends. he’s always found himself wanting the approval of others, the appreciation of everyone else. always so lonely, never having anyone to cushion the sorrow he’s been holding all the years. martin’s never had anyone to live in the home he’s made for others, not yet, not until now. the cage of his ribs houses a heart that beats for tim. the thought hits him just as their lips meet in a chaste kiss. it’s something out of place, and overwhelming to think about. the feeling in his chest spreads upward and outward, taking hold of every nerve. while the seed has been planted - what blooms is an absolute love for the person he’s found himself with now.

countless valentine’s days, holidays, spent alone - no longer.

it’s scary, how much things have changed - and the sudden realization has him holding on tight. while their shared kiss is brief, martin reciprocates in earnest. tim shifts, hand then on the other’s soft side. he draws back, short of breath, to repeat the question from before.

“martin, i’ll ask again, y’got something to say?” 

unlike the first time, he nods as words are spoken without much thought.

“yeah,” there’s a pause as he resituates himself. a shuddering intake of breath, trying to cool the impulse. “yeah, i do.”

and the two of them, he realizes, keep one another afloat. the burning ship they’ve found each other aboard isn’t their end. 

it’s february. tomorrow is valentine’s day.

even while lost at sea, at the very least, they’re there for each other. as long as it’s with martin, tim has no trouble being out of his depth. there’s no reason to tread the waters with the person you’d happily drown with.

these epiphanies exist within the span of a second as martin continues speaking. he swallows around the dryness in his throat.

“i do,” echoing himself, providing his own convincing. tim’s expression hasn’t shifted, watching with rapt attention - a luxury, when it comes to tim at least. his undivided focus isn’t skewed or turned away, not in the very least. it only solidifies the certainty in martin’s intentions. “tomorrow is valentine’s day.”

“yeah,” without much trepidation. “and..?”

credits roll in the background, supplying a steady stream of background noise as martin chooses his words very carefully. the gears grind and as his mouth opens, he cuts himself off with a frustrated sound. sureness unfurling. miraculously, tim secures the conversation and rescues the other from the deep end. 

“we should call out and catch a flick or something?” 

a sigh releases all the tension.

“i was thinking more film-stereotype-y,” martin says as his conflicted frown makes room for a growing grin.

“shall i buy you a bouquet, then?”

“no,” the smile doesn’t stop spreading, a traitorous impulse. “where would i keep that in the archives, tim?”

martin can already imagine the color draining in the flowers, other staff overwatering the poor thing.

“ah,” hand still on martin’s side, a casual and warmly-accepted gesture. tim clicks his tongue, “fair point.”

“they can’t exactly make it homely there, it’s too…”

interrupting, “dusty?”

“well, yes, that,”

another time, “distracting with me there?”

“what?” that gets a laugh out of martin. “that doesn’t even make sense,”

“does it have to?” tim says with a fond grin of his own. 

with a shake of the head, he dismisses the concept, neither disagreeing or agreeing. 

tim finally reels back, focusing back on the television. in his peripheral, there’s an ad, and when he looks back martin’s face has softened. he aims to soothe, petting at martin’s side.

“we’ll figure it all out tomorrow, martin.”

“we might not,” said in the same breath, voice light and airy.

“...but we’re still calling out, right?”

“tim.”

that gets him a look. a faux-disapproving expression that couldn’t and won’t convince anyone.

“we are, aren’t we?” he offers huge, overdramatic puppy eyes. “come on.”

it’s february now. they’ve made it this far, martin thinks.

resigned, “fine.”

tim barks out a laugh and separates, hand going for the remote. victoriously surfing the channels as martin re-finds his comfortable spot from before. the smile doesn’t drop, and neither does his good mood. just like before, martin lies his head on tim’s shoulder, a habit keeping to it’s name. an arm drapes itself over martin’s shoulder, the two fitting together once more. 

it’s february now. tomorrow is valentine’s day, and neither of them would rather spend it with anyone else. and it all plays out just as you’d expect.

martin falls asleep first, he always seems to when in tim’s company. comfort and serenity is hard to come by, especially since the worm attack. he doesn’t have to count sheep or rake his eyes over neverending storage shelves to get to bed on a cot that never fully carries him. in tim’s arms he doesn’t have to check every corner and ledge for an invisible danger. the fear is never truly shaken off, and that’s not what worries him. that’s not what it is, really. in this house, he doesn’t have to worry over tim’s sake, because he’s right there beside martin.

when the breathing next to him evens out, tim carefully stretches an arm out for the remote again. exhaustion settles down right about the time he turns the television off. he can hope all he wants for martin’s dreams to be pleasant, but there’s never a guarantee. contentedness is a luxury few get to truly have, especially with them and what they do, but tim finds martin’s presence enough to calm the everso building anxiety. he pacifies the sense of dread, the sharp knowledge that he can’t keep dodging.

it’s february now.

they can dream of a better future, and a better life together all they want. when together though, then the wish comes true.

both parties are terribly aware of what awaits them as life continues it’s trek into an insatiable black hole. they’re hurtling towards an end that neither of them is prepared for, pulled out of each other’s orbit. and it’s not a heartwarming thought, far from it, but the sense of knowing blankets over the both of them in these short moments of closeness.

tomorrow is valentine’s day.

a terrible fate awaits the two, and the threat is slowly becoming harder and harder to ignore. but tomorrow will be red, and balloon-filled, and sweet-coated, and loving. and the two will do what lovers do, kiss and dance before the terror can reach them. they’ll be able to engross themself in another distraction. an unspoken agreement comes with what they do, and that is with every holiday - another reminder. 

the end of the day is soon, but at least they have each other. 

a kindling fire kept alight, sending smoke signals to a higher power for another second longer with the other. another minute, another hour, another day, another month. never a year, that a dream too hopeful.

it’s february now.

tomorrow is valentine’s day.

while their lives will not last forever, their love will. and they get some rest, unprepared for what’s to come.

  
  



End file.
